Cheer Drawings Novels & Stories

Victor stepped back just enough to appear as though he had only just arrived. Silas collided gently into his leg. “Victor!” Victor forced a warm smile. “Hey there, champion.” Silas held up the drawing proudly. “I made this.” Victor took the paper slowly. Three stick figures. A family. His gaze lingered on the third figure longer than necessary. “Very nice,” he said calmly. Silas pointed to the drawing. “I’m trying to figure out who this one is.” Victor’s smile held steady. “I see.” Silas nodded.

“Understood.” “No. I mean it.” “I will be on your side, no questions, or I sleep on the couch.” “Good!” So I went back to my drawing. So far he had a big love heart with my name in it over his left peck. I had then drawn a really bad version of roses and vines around it to go with the ones on his arm. There were also ‘Don’t mess with Ada’, ‘Ada is queen’, ‘Ada forever’ as well and some daisies… well, my bad version of daisies. I really am not that good at drawing, but I try.

"What does your new friend look like, Heidi?" Heidi proudly lifted her drawing. It was a crude, childish sketch of a very tall figure standing between two giant green trees. The figure was colored completely in dark gray and black crayons, but the most unsettling part was the face. Heidi had used a bright yellow crayon to draw two massive, perfectly round circles for the eyes.

] The chat lit up with cheers and a parade of brown-nosing: Keith was a genius, the department unbeatable. Yvette even slid into my DMs with a smiley face. [Ella, don't be mad, okay? I'm just thinking of the team.] I forced a smile, left her on 'Read', and shut the chat. I had had enough.

he ordered. Chester was still my biological pup. Hence, I couldn't bring myself to leave him alone or let him face danger. I arrived at Chester's school early. They seemed to be holding an art exhibition. The hallway walls were lined with childlike but heartfelt drawings. I wandered casually until one drawing suddenly stopped me cold. The title read "My Lovely Family", and the artist's signature was "Chester Grant". In the drawing, Ethan, Angelina, and Chester sat closely together. They all had bright smiles on their faces.

I show him the rolled up papers in my hand and place them gently under the tree. “I was busy making last minutes Christmas presents for everyone. I also made these for the funeral.” I show them the drawings I made and uncle Owen tears up. “I’m sorry, do you not like. I can put it away.” I start rolling it back up and he walks over to hug me. “I love it sweetheart. It’s beautiful.” “I made two. One for you and one for your dad. Here is Zuri and here is Michael. I figured we could hang them for people to see at the funeral and then the families can take the drawings home with them.”

“Glitter only for the back pages. So it doesn’t disturb the serious work.” I watch the watercolor in her hand, tiny splatters already landing on the carpet. My serious work quietly cries in a corner, but honestly, today I don’t care. “Mommy, look.” She draws a small circle in the corner of the page, then adds two dots and a smile. “This is my gang. Table center. Happy.” There are four tiny heads there. One with long hair in a ponytail, green eyes. Above it: ME. I smile faintly. “You look very proud.”

Dimitri turned around, brows lifting slightly. Zoe walked over, all four feet of her confidence on full display, and handed it up to him. He looked down at the drawing. Three stick figures stood in front of a black square labeled "HOME". One had long curls. One had a crown. The third had very sharp shoulders and icy blue eyes drawn in clumsy marker. Above them, Zoe had drawn a yellow sun with a big smile and the word "US" in careful, crooked letters. Dimitri held the paper like it might explode.

At first, it was almost gentle. A child’s drawing of the band as stick figures with enormous guitars and a stage that appeared to be on fire for celebratory reasons. The drummer had three arms, and the bassist was, for some reason, a dog. She smiled faintly and placed it harmlessly. A letter written in careful cursive thanked them for a song that played through hospital nights. The ink trailed off at the corners, as if the writer had paused, lost in memory. She set it in need of reply.

He yawned, still blinking at her like an owl. Whitney’s tension cracked at the edges, yet she knelt, brushing his hair back. “I’m here now.” He nodded solemnly, as if that solved everything in the universe, he held up a folded paper from behind his back. “What’s that?” she asked. “A drawing,” he mumbled. “For you.” She unfolded it, revealing a crooked house, two boys badly drawn but smiling, and a tall woman with ridiculous silver hair that swooped like a superhero cape.